


in the shadow of the mountain

by broniichan



Category: Free!
Genre: College/University, Established Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Magical Realism, soft angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 11:29:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16136312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/broniichan/pseuds/broniichan
Summary: You’re famous, Haru-chanHe doesn’t expect a quick response, and he doesn’t get one. Hours later his phone buzzes while he rides the train, Ikebukuro flying past.stop with the -channo one reads the newspaper anyway





	in the shadow of the mountain

The train bobs as it curves around the track, and losing his footing, Makoto grabs the handle overhead.

“ _The next stop is: Shibuya. Shibuya. The doors on the right side will open._ ”

Whizzing past people waiting at the tracks, the train slows and stops. Makoto releases the handle and steps out of the way, freeing up space for people to get off and board. A wave of new people come in and press him back into the opposite door.

The doors shut, and they set off.

Makoto dips his head to look out the window, big, bold lettered buildings and adverts passing by. When he first visited a big city as a kid, he thought the buildings were absurdly huge, not at all like the small, human appropriate buildings of Iwatobi. Now, in Tokyo, he isn’t sure he feels the same.

He gets off at Shinjuku and falls into the swarm of people leaving the station. Up a floor and out, he passes the department store and finally makes it to the street.

Tall and austere, skyscrapers watch over him.

* * *

“What about this one?” Kisumi says, pointing to the laptop screen.

Asahi squints, leaning forward and practically pressing his nose up to the screen. “Is that some gooey rom-com? No thanks. I want blood and action _._ ”

“Aw, Asahi, you’re only saying that because you know you’ll cry.”

Kisumi laughs as Asahi wacks him with the back of his hand. “Shut up, I will _not._ ”

Tiredly, Haru says, “Can we pick something already?”

“Okay, okay, we’ll put it to a vote! Everyone in favor of watching this, raise your hands!”

Kisumi and Haru raise their hands, Haru (Makoto suspects) solely because he’s tired of the debating.

“Okay, and all in favor of watching something else, preferably gruesome and violent?”

Asahi raises his hand.

“Makoto, you didn’t raise your hand,” complains Kisumi. “This can’t be a democracy if you don’t participate.”

“I’m fine with whatever, really. It doesn’t matter.”

“Well, since Makoto forfeited his vote, looks like Haru and I win by default!”

Asahi groans. “Thanks, Makoto.”

With a weak laugh, Makoto shrugs, knowing Asahi will forget within minutes. And forget Asahi does as they eventually settle on the floor, backs to Kisumi’s bed, the laptop in front of them playing title credits to a perky pop song. Makoto sits squished between Asahi and Haru.

Predictably, at about the three-quarter mark, Asahi sobs into his elbow at the dramatic, tragic third act twist of the romance plot, and beside him, Kisumi laughs through tears of his own.

“See, I told you,” Kisumi says, sniffing and wiping his eyes.

“Shut… Shut up.”

Their crying buries the dialogue, so lightly, Makoto asks, “Should we pause it?”

Asahi elbows him. “Shut up! I don’t want to hear _anything_ from you two―” He jabs a finger at Makoto and Haru, “―sitting there like emotionless robots!”

Again, Makoto shrugs, no real answer to offer. On his other side, Haru says nothing.

At the end of the movie, when there’s a triumphant conclusion in swelling orchestral music, Kisumi and Asahi crumble into tears once more, and as the credits play in the background, Makoto pats Asahi on the shoulder.

They wrap up for the night, leaving Kisumi the room to himself. Outside under the campus streetlights, Asahi (now calm and no longer teary, though his eyes are still rimmed in red) splits off from Makoto and Haru, waving.

“See you tomorrow!” he directs at Haru. He turns down a path and grows smaller and smaller.

Cicadas drone in the trees along the sidewalk.

Makoto grabs his backpack strap and looks down at Haru. “Walk you home?”

After a brief trip on the Yamanote Line, they walk along the sidewalk toward Haru’s apartment building. Someone on a bicycle rattles past, reflective lights glowing.

Haru says, “You don’t cry as much as you used to.”

“Hm?”

“You used to cry a lot when we were younger.”

“Ah, yeah, that’s true.” Makoto scratches his neck. “I grew up, I guess.”

Haru looks down at the pavement ahead.

“But you’ve always been so stoic and strong, Haru-chan. You barely cried, even when we were kids.”

Haru’s brow pinches. “I’m strong because I don’t cry often?”

“Well, I mean, you’ve just always been very calm.”

“Hm.” Haru looks forward again.

They say nothing more, but something weighs down their walk. Eventually, they make it to Haru’s apartment, and they slow, neither one wanting to say goodbye yet.

Makoto exhales. “Have a good practice tomorrow,” he says, smiling.

Haru nods. “Thanks. Study for your test.”

“I will.”

A pause. Haru leans in and places a brush of a kiss on Makoto’s cheek. “Goodnight,” he says, waving as he backs away.

Makoto waves back. “Goodnight.”

With a final glance, Haru vanishes up the stairs, and Makoto is alone on the sidewalk, looking up at the glowing apartment complex.

He hops on the train and heads to his own apartment, turning on the lights as he peels off his shoes at the door. He doesn’t bother opening the fridge, knowing the slim pickings inside will only make him wish he were at Haru’s. Sighing, he slips out of his jeans and into sweatpants, forgoing a shower and promising himself to take one in the morning.

Lights off, he curls into the bed by himself. The ceiling overhead is dark, and he can’t gauge its distance from him.

* * *

Makoto wakes at 9:12, eighteen minutes before his alarm. He doesn’t have class until later in the afternoon and he specifically kept this block of time free so he could study for a big anatomy exam tomorrow.

He sits up, pushing the comforter down to his hips. By now Haru and Asahi must be in practice.

With a yawn, he forces himself up out of bed and heads for the bathroom. He returns to his room, towel draped around his neck to catch any droplets from his hair, just as his 9:30 alarm blares. He quickly dismisses it.

Makoto checks his fridge and cupboards, willing there to be more food than there actually is, but nothing. He only goes to the supermarket if he’s with Haru, because alone, he doesn’t feel justified in buying supplies for just himself. He’s not a terrible cook, but not a good one either, so he mainly survives off of cafeteria and convenience foods.

Unfortunately, it’s true; he has nothing to eat for breakfast, and he knows he should eat before trying to cram information in his head. Reluctantly, he pulls on some clothes appropriate for the cool weather outside and dries his hair best he can with the towel. It’s only to pop in and out of the 7-Eleven across the street, after all.

Makoto slides on his jacket and heads for the door. He slows.

Something is different. Something about his apartment. He scans all the nooks, the bare white walls, the barely used kitchen. Nothing noticeably out of the ordinary, yet the unease does not release him.

Slowly, he continues toward the front door, and his eyes get pushed upward. He frowns. Has the ceiling always been that low?

He shakes himself out of it and crouches down to put on his shoes.

Once he leaves the apartment, the feeling abates, but once he steps through the door again, it quashes him.

He studies the stretch of bare wall between the top of the door and the ceiling. It can’t be shorter, but it is.

* * *

Flipping book pages, clicking laptop keys.

Makoto sits in the library at a window table across from his friend Kentarou from psych. He goes over vocab for his English quiz tomorrow, while Kentarou squints at his laptop, occasionally typing.

Pushing up his glasses, Makoto drops his pencil, hand aching from copying conjugations. He flexes his fingers.

“Yo, Makoto,” Kentarou whispers. He flips his laptop around. “Isn’t this your friend?”

_HIDAKA UNIVERSITY BOASTS PROMISING NEW MEMBERS ON SWIM TEAM_

There’s a picture of the team as a whole, one of Mikoshiba talking to the first years, and Haru mid-stroke.

Makoto skims the first few paragraphs, learning what he already knows. “Yeah.”

Kentarou turns the laptop back to himself. “Damn. He must be really good.”

Makoto smiles. “He is.”

They return to their own work, and Makoto picks up his pencil. He pauses.

Instead, he drops the pencil again and fishes out his phone. He quickly finds the article and takes a screenshot, attaching it to a message.

**You’re famous, Haru-chan**

He doesn’t expect a quick response, and he doesn’t get one. Hours later his phone buzzes while he rides the train, Ikebukuro flying past.

**stop with the -chan**

**no one reads the newspaper anyway**

Makoto hides a chuckle.

Back at his apartment, he steps in, fading sunlight coming in through the window. He takes off his shoes and stops in the hallway. Again, an unknown feeling creeps over him. He looks upward.

On an impulse, he drops off his backpack and searches through his closet to pick out his cheap, plastic orange broom. Facing the ceiling, he tentatively pokes it with the tip of the broom.

It’s just a ceiling. _What am I doing?_

Glad no one was around to see that, he replaces the broom and searches through his fridge for some milk, but at the same time, he thinks about how he has no control measurement to compare to. Maybe the ceiling is closer, he just wouldn’t know because he hadn’t tested it before. Hadn’t needed to test it before.

He downs some milk, straight from the carton. The apartment darkens as the sun sets behind the city.

* * *

“Okay, let’s see how bad it is,” Haru says, making a beeline for Makoto’s kitchen.

“Haru,” Makoto whines. He lags behind, fate sealed. “How come you don’t trust me?”

Haru doesn’t reply and opens Makoto’s fridge. He processes the contents (milk carton, egg dozen, open package of Tim Tams), then shuts it and tries the cupboards (package of bread, unopened bag of rice, powdered curry mix). Shutting the cupboard, Haru flicks a look back at Makoto as if to say, _You’re really asking that?_

“We’re going to the supermarket,” Haru says, “and then I’ll write down some recipes that even you could follow.”

Makoto sighs. “Okay.”

They return to the apartment an hour and a half later, laden with bags. Haru directs Makoto in organizing his new purchases, placing labels on strips of tape for each shelf so Makoto has a space to put them. Once everything is stocked in fridge and cupboards and the kitchen looks less dreary, Haru rips out sheets of paper from a notebook and starts writing down instructions.

Three sheets worth collect in a pile on the counter; Haru bows his head over a fourth, pen scratching.

“Hey, Haru?” Makoto tempts. “Can I ask kind of a weird question?”

Haru doesn’t look up. “Yeah?”

“Do you think… Does the ceiling feel shorter to you in here?”

Pausing, Haru frowns and stands up straight. He looks up. “No.”

“Oh, well… I don’t know, for some reason it feels like it’s closer than it was when I moved in?”

“Maybe you grew.”

“I don’t think so? You’re still at the same height to me.”

Haru presses his lips together. “Maybe we both grew,” he says, as if only to humor him.

“Yeah…” Slowly, Makoto lifts his chin to look at the ceiling. “Exams must be making me crazy,” he laughs.

Haru studies him a breath, brow furrowed. But he returns to his recipe and continues filling it out without another word, and the ceiling isn’t mentioned again.

In the end, Haru guides Makoto through a test recipe, and other than a few small mishaps (dumping too much salt, blasting the heat too high) Makoto completes it and presents it to Haru for inspection. It’s a little ugly, but Haru makes no comment and takes a bite.

“Not bad,” he says after swallowing. “Without that much salt it’ll be better next time.”

Makoto lifts his chin. “Thanks, Haru-chan! I’ll be sure to practice.”

“Maybe I’ll do surprise inspections just to make sure you do.”

Haru says it with such seriousness that Makoto is half-inclined to take him at face value. “Haru, that’s so creepy.”

“For you, it’s necessary.”

Makoto laughs, and Haru’s mouth twitches.

Somewhat obligated so they don’t waste it, they both finish the rest of the dish together, and even though it’s a bit early for dinner, Makoto is sure he won’t have any appetite for the rest of the evening.

Since Makoto cooked, Haru washes out the plate in the sink. Makoto leans into the counter beside him.

“Hey, Haru?”

“Mm?” Haru rinses off fluffy soap.

“Do you want to stay? Tonight?”

With a subtle exhale, Haru flicks off the water and begins drying the plate with a washcloth. He meets Makoto’s eyes. “I have practice in the morning,” he says, softly.

Masking his disappointment, Makoto says, “Oh, yeah. Of course.”

“Sorry…”

“No, no, I understand. I know it’s a longer trip from here.”

Haru searches his face, and Makoto assures him with a smile. Whether it’s convincing or not, he doesn’t know.

Haru opens the cupboard and places the dry plate alongside Makoto’s only other plate.

After they say farewell and Haru catches a train back to his apartment, Makoto lingers in the kitchen. He opens up his chat with Haru on his phone and stares at it, trying to conjure up something substantial to say, but he ends up locking his phone without typing anything.

He looks up at the ceiling. His insides lurch; it’s closer.

In a rush, he digs out his broom to test it out, and there definitely is less space between his hand on the broom and the tip of the broom at the ceiling. His pulse climbs up his throat.

_I must really be losing my mind._

He goes to sleep hungry.

* * *

“Coach Tachibana?”

Makoto blinks into movement, finding Misaki looking at him from his lane, arms folded on the deck. “Hm?”

“Were you watching?”

“Yes, yes,” Makoto says, mentally blocking out the lane Haru is swimming in. “I think you’re still bending your hips a little bit, and it’s dragging down your speed.”

Misaki nods. “Okay.” He slides his goggles over his eyes and pushes off toward the other end.

In the end lane, away from Makoto’s students, Haru continues to pull stroke after stroke, perfect and placid.

“Great work today, everyone! Keep thinking about what I said, and I’ll see you all on Monday!” Makoto doesn’t really remember what he said, but his students nod and thank him, dispersing off into the locker rooms.

Misaki hangs back, fingers curled around his cap and goggles. “Um… Say bye to Haru-san for me.”

Makoto smiles. “I will.”

He leaves and Makoto resets everything taken out for the class. As he shoves kickboards back into their cupboards, Nao ambles over to him, arms folded. Makoto glances back at him, but Nao’s eyes are out across the pool.

“Still at it, hm?” Nao muses, watching Haru disrupt the stillness of the water. “It’ll be interesting to see where he goes.”

Haru does a smooth flip turn with barely a splash.

“Yeah,” Makoto says.

When Nao leaves, Makoto watches Haru for a minute before finishing up the rest of his duties.

It’s around closing time. Haru finally slows, hanging on the side of pool, panting. He pulls off his cap and goggles and shakes the water from his hair.

Makoto crouches down at his lane. “Finished?”

Haru nods.

Like always, Makoto pulls him out. Water from Haru’s hand dampens Makoto’s palm, but he lets it remain on his skin, feeling a brush of air touch it.

They close up and change into their normal clothes before taking to the street, the sun nearly gone and neon signs glowing from every corner. There’s a small ramen place just down the street, so feeling a change in pace, they eat there, tucked into a tiny booth beside each other. Still damp, Haru’s hair looks soft.

Once they eat, they walk back to the station together and slip through the swarms of people to find their platforms. They find Haru’s first, but instead of stepping into line, Haru hesitates.

“Makoto,” he says.

“Hm?”

Haru’s train rushes in, a gust of air sweeping past them.

Haru holds Makoto’s gaze with importance and his voice is barely audible over the thudding tracks. “I don’t have practice tomorrow morning.”

The train stops.

With a coy smile, Makoto says, “Oh, is that so, Haruka?”

Blinking, Haru flushes. He doesn’t object to his full name, letting the bustle of people exiting and entering the train fill the air as they both stand there, close but not touching.

Makoto nods at the train. “We should hurry before they shut the doors.”

Mutely, Haru nods, and together, they squeeze inside the nearest car just before the doors slide shut and the train lurches forward. Crammed in among people coming back from work, they accidentally bump into each other with the train’s swaying.

They don’t speak the whole ride. Haru skirts Makoto’s eyes, cheeks still pink.

At Haru’s stop they get off and file into the crowd heading down the stairs to the underground, keeping close to not lose each other, and they find the right exit and return to cool nighttime air. Silent air buzzes between them as they walk the whole length to Haru’s apartment.

This time, they don’t part ways on the ground―Makoto silently follows Haru up the flights of stairs and into the apartment. He’s barely taken off his shoes and crossed the threshold before Haru kisses him, slow, pulling him deeper into the apartment without bothering to flick on a light.

Makoto laughs and brushes Haru’s hair back. Nose and mouth grazing Haru’s neck, he breathes, “So impatient.”

After, when the sun is long gone, Makoto lies on the futon spread out in the middle of the floor, Haru asleep beside him. He’s become accustomed over the years to Haru’s slight habit of sleep-talking. Usually it’s muttering incomprehensible gibberish, but there have been occasions (terrifying occasions) where Haru has been somewhat lucid and capable of listening and responding (albeit bizarrely), only to immediately fall back into heavy sleep and not remember anything the next morning. Makoto teases him for being more chatty asleep than awake.

Now, though, Haru is silent but for slow, easy breaths. His back faces Makoto, bare shoulder blades shifting slightly as his ribs expand and contract. He’s still finer and more slender than Makoto is, but his shoulders are sturdy. Capable.

Makoto exhales and lets his gaze roll up. The shades over the window draw jagged lines of light on the otherwise shadowy ceiling. Normal. Haru’s ceiling isn’t caving in on him.

* * *

While Makoto dodges in between people as he tries to keep Haru in sight, his phone buzzes in his hand.

Asahi bypasses a greeting. “Yo, where are you guys? It’s about to start!”

“I know, I know,” Makoto says. “Just―” He accidentally bumps into a businesswoman, knocking a briefcase out of her hand. “Oh, I’m so sorry! Sorry!” He scrambles to pick it up and hand it back to her, the moment disrupting the foot traffic of the people around them.

He straightens up and his insides twist. He’s lost Haru.

“Makoto?” Asahi prods.

Plodding forward, Makoto says, “Sorry, I got―We’re at the station, we’ll be there soon.”

He hangs up before Asahi can say anything else and shoves the phone in his pocket. His eyes dart around for a head of black hair.

Instead, it’s Haru who finds him, turning back and wading against the current. “Come on,” he says, tugging Makoto in the right direction by the sleeve of his jacket.

They reach the gate and Haru swipes his Suica card to pass through, but when Makoto follows and swipes his, the machine buzzes and flashes red.

“Oh, wait, Haru,” Makoto calls, backing out of the way to let the next person through.

Obedient, Haru hangs back on the other side of the gate, watching Makoto rifle through his bag for his wallet.

An idiot, he somehow doesn’t have any cash on him, so he says, “I’ll be back in a second, I just need to stop at the ATM and―”

Wordlessly, Haru withdraws five 1000 yen bills from his own wallet and offers them over the gate.

Makoto shakes his head, still clutching his wallet in one hand and Suica in the other. “No, Haru, I’ll just―”

“You’re wasting time,” Haru says.

“Five thousand is too much,” Makoto complains, “one thousand would be fine―”

Haru leans over the gate to stuff all five bills into the breast pocket of Makoto’s jacket. “Go.”

Reluctantly, Makoto turns back and heads to the series of self-service stations. He stands in the Suica card line for maybe two minutes, occasionally checking that Haru is still waiting for him at the gate even though he knows he is. He caves and deposits the five thousand to his account.

Transaction completed, he rushes back and at last swipes through the gate with a beep and a flash of blue.

“I’ll just buy you the next few dinners, or something,” he says once he meets up with Haru.

Haru smiles.

They make it, having missed the first twenty minutes of the basketball game, but after a small grumble from Asahi, they cheer for Kisumi and the rest of his team. Asahi is the loudest. In the end, Kisumi’s team loses by a handful of points, but they look more exhilarated than defeated.

“Ah, it was so close!” Kisumi says afterwards when they meet up for dinner. “It was a lot of fun.”

They go out for yakiniku and then go their separate ways, Asahi and Kisumi heading to some coffee shop. Haru and Makoto board a train, snagging two seats next to each other. Tiredness droops Makoto’s eyes, and he wants to rest his head on Haru’s shoulder, but he doesn’t.

Eventually, Haru nudges him. “Makoto, this is your stop.”

Makoto remembers his apartment’s ceiling as he left it, so close it almost grazed the top of his head. “Can I stay with you?”

“You have class tomorrow morning and I have practice.”

“I know, but…” Almost childishly, he says, “I want to stay with you.”

Haru sighs. “Fine. But don’t complain in the morning.”

“Thanks, Haru-chan.”

Once they arrive at Haru’s apartment, Makoto passes out within minutes of hitting the futon, and far too soon, light drifts in and Haru shifts beside him.

“Makoto.” Haru shakes his shoulder. “You need to get up.”

Makoto groans and squeezes Haru tight, mushing his face into the cloth of Haru’s shirt. “No… It’s warm…”

“Makoto.”

Reluctantly, Makoto lets Haru go, rolling onto his back. Haru sits up and watches over him with a part amused, part frustrated expression, hair a little messy from sleep.

“You’re so cruel, Haru-chan,” Makoto whines.

“You asked for this.”

So he did. He rouses himself.

When the two of them go to the station, Makoto swipes his Suica at the JR gate, and it beeps and flashes blue.

On the platform, he says goodbye to Haru and weaves through the crowds to find his train. As he waits, Haru’s train across the tracks arrives, and Makoto scans the crowd for a last glimpse. The train departs before he gets one.

Later in the evening, after classes and work when it’s finally time to return home, Makoto texts Haru.

**Hey I think I left one of my notebooks at your place, can I come get it?**

Haru replies quickly, for once.

**mikoshiba dragged the team out for dinner so i’m not there but you can use the spare key**

Without stopping at his own apartment to drop anything off, Makoto gets a quick snack at the nearest Lawson (mentally making note not to tell Haru), and heads for Haru’s apartment. When they first moved to Tokyo, Makoto’s mom insisted the two of them have copies of each other’s apartment keys. Although she didn’t say so, it was understood that she worried for Makoto living on his own for the first time, and Haru, being an old pro, would check up on him.

Makoto’s only used the key once before, so it still feels a little unfamiliar to unlock the door and enter without Haru. The apartment is silent, lights off, futon still spread out. His notebook lies face down on Haru’s desk. He plucks it up, flicking through pages of notes for something to do.

He doesn’t move.

Eventually, he slides the notebook into his backpack and drops the backpack on the floor. In Haru’s bathroom there are already two toothbrushes, so he uses his and washes his face before returning to the main room and curling up on the futon.

Time passes before the front latch clicks and Haru enters, switching on the overhead. He blinks at Makoto on the futon, hand hovering at the lightswitch.

“Oh,” he says. He relaxes and shuts the door. “Did I wake you up?”

Makoto shakes his head. “No, I wasn’t asleep.”

Pulling off his shoes and unzipping his sweatshirt, Haru steps in, forehead pinched in a silent question. But, nevertheless, he turns the light off and flops onto the futon, nestling into Makoto.

There’s a faint smell of alcohol on his skin.

“Did the team go drinking?” Makoto asks.

“Yeah, but I only had a sip.” Haru’s nose wrinkles. “Beer tastes terrible. I don’t know how anyone could drink that much.”

Makoto laughs.

They go quiet, inhaling and exhaling each other’s presence. Falling asleep like that, Makoto wakes up to a blaring alarm, his head on Haru’s chest. They both wince and stir. Haru shuts off the alarm.

While Haru takes a bath, Makoto glances over his notes and snacks on what’s available in Haru’s kitchen that doesn’t require preparation, still in yesterday’s clothes. He finds a shirt of his in Haru’s drawer, unsure when it ended up there.

After glancing at his watch, he knocks on the bath door and peeks in. “Haru?”

“Yeah.” Water dripping down his face, Haru looks up at him.

“I have class, so I’m heading out.”

“Okay. Have a good day.”

“You too.”

Makoto takes his train, listening to the mild talk around him.

After his day, he reuses his spare key and goes back to Haru’s. He takes a shower and as always, it’s a little short for him, but at least it’s the same height it always has been.

Makoto shuts his eyes and lets the water run down his face.

* * *

Makoto is lucky, he supposes, that so many of his belongings are already at Haru’s. Drawers of clothes, his own toothbrush, a couple of foods in the fridge and cupboards Haru would never eat on his own, Haru’s and Makoto’s intermingling.

Makoto’s apartment has some of Haru too, but not quite at the same volume, as Haru isn’t staying at his apartment.

Haru accepts Makoto’s daily presence without complaint, and without discussing it, they develop a routine in the now shared space. Makoto returns to his own apartment only once for a forgotten book, the ceiling so low that he must duck now. He goes in and out within a minute.

This unspoken agreement only lasts for so long.

To prove himself, Makoto attempts to cook without Haru’s help, and the results are edible, at least. He lights up when Haru tells him, “Better.”

They eat in comfortable silence.

Haru sets down his chopsticks. “Is something up?”

“No?”

“Well, you’ve been staying here a lot…” Haru trails off, voice tiptoeing. “I didn’t know if you’re… lonely, or something.”

Makoto shakes his head. “Oh, didn’t I tell you? The heater in my apartment is broken, so they’re fixing it.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, since it’s getting colder and all…” Makoto takes a bite to prevent the lie from spiraling.

Haru nods, looks down at his hand, and resumes eating.

In the morning the two of them get ready for the day in hazy sleepiness, yawning and bumping limbs. Makoto brushes his teeth while Haru roots around the cupboard hanging over the sink. Haru pulls out a razor and shaving cream.

Makoto pauses, watching as Haru wets his face and lathers his chin with cream. “Since when do you shave?”

“Since I started growing hair on my face,” Haru says, deadpan, leaning into the mirror. “I don’t have a lot so I don’t shave that often, but it looks bad if I leave it too long.”

Makoto continues to watch another moment as Haru slowly drags the razor down his skin, before remembering to finish brushing his teeth. When Haru is done, he looks exactly the same as before, skin merely pinker with the rinse of cold water.

Patting his face dry with a washcloth, Haru glances up. “What?”

“Nothing.”

Haru hangs up the washcloth.

They finish getting ready in silence, and Makoto takes his time, scouring the apartment for more clues of what he might have missed in these months.

In chilly air, they take their separate trains.

* * *

Cold seeps into Makoto’s bones the moment he wakes, and wishing he could take another hot shower but unable to with Haru taking a bath, he puts on a sweater and makes himself a hot cup of tea.

They both set off for practices, classes, work, but reconvene in the evening, when the sun sets and the cold grows fiercer.

Unprepared, Makoto only has his sweater under his thin jacket, shivering hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. “Haru-chan!” he calls when he sees Haru on the opposing side of the crosswalk.

Haru raises a gloved hand and crosses, chin tucked into the collar of his winter jacket. He stops in front of Makoto and tilts his head. “Where’s your jacket?”

“Oh!” Makoto sets down the sidewalk, Haru keeping pace with him. “It’s at my apartment.”

“You look cold. We can stop by and get it if you want.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“It’s not that far away.”

Mouth numb, Makoto avoids his eyes. “I, um, I was thinking of getting a new jacket, anyway. That one’s kinda old.”

“Then we can stop at a store and get one.”

“No, Haru―” Makoto lets out a sharp exhale. “It’s fine, really, I don’t need to―”

Haru’s expression tightens. “What’s up with you?”

“ _Nothing,_ I just―”

Without warning, Haru splits from him and slips into the little park down the sidewalk. Makoto blinks.

“Haru, wait!” he calls, running after.

The park is quiet, almost private, nothing more than some dirt and grass and a couple of trees in the middle of the concrete, lit only by the signs and windows from tall buildings encircling it.

Haru stops and faces Makoto, arms crossed over his chest. “You’ve been weird lately.”

Makoto slows. Surrounded at all angles by tall buildings, he dips his head.

Neither speaks for a minute. Distant cars whizz by.

“I guess…” Makoto shifts his weight. “I always feel… small. In comparison to everyone, but…” His head lifts. “Especially to you, Haru.”

Haru uncrosses his arms.

“I’m so proud of you and it’s not like I’m unhappy where I am, but… I don’t know. You’ve always been the example.”

Thinking a moment, Haru says, softly, “You don’t think you’re an example to me too? And to everyone else―Nagisa, Rei, Rin, Asahi…?”

Makoto looks down again.

His thumping pulse, quiet, blood failing to warm the skin of his hands and face. A stretch of silence.

He swallows and straightens up, inching a step back. “Come on, I’m getting hungry,” he says.

Haru doesn’t move. “Makoto…”

Makoto smiles. “It’s not your fault.”

Reluctantly, still wearing his worry, Haru joins him, and without speaking, they walk to the place they’d been planning to go for dinner. The restaurant is relatively empty, only accentuating how both of them are tucked into their own thoughts, and they eat quickly.

Still, afterwards, Makoto follows Haru to Haru’s apartment, and Haru does not say anything. Makoto showers, relishing the heat after the cold outside, and steps out to find Haru at his desk, reading something out of a textbook. Makoto puts on his glasses and reviews some notes, going through pages and pages of his own handwriting. He keeps getting distracted with every flick of a page from Haru.

When his handwriting turns to mushy, meaningless scribbles through tired eyes, Makoto tosses aside his notebook and rub his eyes. He sets aside his glasses and lies down on the futon, burrowing deep into the covers.

Within a minute, the textbook shuts, the desk chair squeaks, and the lamp flicks off. With footsteps passing the futon, Haru’s twin bed, sat a little higher than the futon, squeaks.  

The covers rustle and Haru exhales. Eventually, everything settles, and Makoto has the futon to himself.

Makoto’s hair is still a little damp from his shower, and cold sinks into his scalp despite the whirring heater across the room. He tugs the covers tighter around himself.

From the street below, an ambulance siren echoes.

Makoto’s throat closes up. He presses the pillow to his face, body shaking as the first wave hits. The pillowcase soaks up the tears.

Inhaling chokily and quieting himself as best he can, Makoto curls into himself, clutching the pillow tight. He isn’t sure how long it lasts, or whether Haru is awake to hear him. If Haru does hear him, he stays on his bed, silent. Makoto doesn’t resent him for it.

Gradually, he slows, breaths evening out and eyes drying, and mind clear, he falls asleep.

In the morning, he wakes before the alarm. Morning light dusts the room, and he watches the vibrancy grow on the ceiling.

The alarm goes off; Haru surges up with an inhale and scrambles to shut it off. Standing, he shoots a miserable glance to Makoto and looks away.

With an exhale, Makoto rubs his eyes and sits up. Gently, he says, “Good morning, Haru-chan.”

Haru doesn’t fight the nickname. Quietly, he says, “Good morning.”

They get ready, barely broaching each other’s space, and after checking the weather forecast on his phone, Makoto slings his backpack over his shoulder.

“I’m off,” he says.

“Oh.” Haru glances at the clock. “But your first class doesn’t start until ten today.”

Makoto waves his phone. “It looks like it’s going to be cold again today, so I’m going to get my jacket.”

“Oh.” A shift in Haru’s expression. “Okay. See you later.”

“Bye.”

Makoto shudders as he steps out of the cold and into the toasty train car. He looks out the window during the ride to his apartment, sky gray behind the skyscrapers.

“ _The doors on the left side will open._ ”

Down into the underground, and back up onto the street. He reaches his apartment building and climbs to his floor, stopping in front of the door. His key, feeling unused in comparison to Haru’s key, is hard in his hand.

With a steadying inhale, he unlocks the door and steps in.

White walls, plain floors. Past the entryway, a ceiling above Makoto’s head, nowhere near touching him. He exhales.

Makoto digs through his closet. He pulls out his winter jacket and slips it on, zipping it all the way up.

That night, after dinner with his friend on campus, he sleeps on his own bed in his own apartment. Haru doesn’t text or call, but Makoto sleeps well.

* * *

Eventually, Makoto buckles down and clears out the long rotted food in his fridge. He cringes at the rancid colors and stench, dumping it into the trash and feeling a little guilty at wasting so much. But once it’s all tucked into the garbage (double bagged and double knotted) and deposited outside, he sprays the inside and scrubs it down, until the smell is gone and replaced by a clinical, soapy smell. With the exception of some moldy bread, the dry products remained fine in his absence, so at least he doesn’t have to toss everything.

Makoto, bundled up in his winter jacket, goes to the supermarket. He stays simple and tries to choose only necessities and things he knows how to make, but he ends up leaving the store with a couple of items he knows Haru would disapprove of anyway. Once home, he unpacks everything into the newly clean fridge. He doesn’t fill it in entirety.

Later he makes himself a meal without following any of Haru’s recipes. He takes a picture and attaches it to a message.

**Not bad, right?**

The message goes unread for several hours, and there’s no reply until he steps out of the shower in the evening and checks his phone.

**not bad**

**the chicken looks a little burnt though**

Makoto laughs.

**Yeah I’ll have to keep closer watch next time (⌒_⌒;)**

**I’m going to look up other recipes since all the ones you gave me are for fish**

 

**fish is good for you**

 

**Variety is good for you**

**_I’m_ ** **the one taking nutrition right now**

 ****Makoto can practically hear Haru sigh.

**hm**

**i am trying to eat more variety**

 

**Any progress is good, so I’m glad**

**You being a real athlete now and all**

No further responses after that. Checking his alarm for the morning, Makoto locks his phone and sets it beside his bed. He offs the lights, but eyes finding the new light source in the room, he pads to the window. Raising the shade, he peers down at little ants bustling on the sidewalk below, all of them clad in winter ready clothes.

From this distance, they only look small.

**Author's Note:**

> [homesick - dua lipa,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P2TIkY8tfk8) [i'm not famous - ajr](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VkXYjy6sZ2A)
> 
> watch my style get progressively more vague 
> 
> [tumblr](http://broniichan.tumblr.com) / [twitter](https://twitter.com/bronii_chan)


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